


idea draft 2

by Bpadelman



Series: idea [1]
Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-20
Updated: 2013-07-20
Packaged: 2017-12-20 19:17:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/890896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bpadelman/pseuds/Bpadelman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>i've had this idea in my head for the longest time. it's a story of an alcoholic barrista and a guy that works in a suit shop (like mens warehouse). the story follows their lives (kind of) and their journeys/trails/tribulations and shit that they go through.<br/>i can picture this story in my head, and it's heartbreaking and so agonizingly sad that sometimes i wonder about my self. but it's also so fucking beautiful (to me) that i can't fathom where i got the idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	idea draft 2

**Author's Note:**

> **names are subject to change**
> 
> *reminder that this is not a complete story, this is just an outline, an idea, words that have been lost in my head that i need to get out.*

possible  
r.d.

The sun had already set by the time Mark got back to the mangy apartment. The remnants of twilight struggled to cling to the moth eaten curtains that lined the cobwebbed windows leading up to the 2nd floor. It appeared as if someone had tried to cut them but failed miserably at it. Mark trudged his way up the stairs, leaning on the railing for moral support. He stared down at his shoes, the black leather faded and worn soft, handed down to him from his grandfather.  
Mark sighed as he stepped down into the desolate hallway where he continued the long, perolious journey to his bed. He paused before continuing through the sad looking hallway, dropping his leaden briefcase to the floor and bringinning his hands up to his face, rubbing and smearing his face with both hands before using both to rub his head - destroying the stepford husband-esque style that his boss insisted male in the office have. Mark thought his boss watched Mad Men a little too much and a little too seriously.   
‘I get paid. Having a boss that’s a little too into a tv show is ok.’ he begrudingly thought. Mark picked up his case and resumed lugging it back to his apartment. At the end of the seemingly endless hall, Mark once again put his case down - this time only long enough to rummage through all of his pockets twice before finding his keys in the first pocket he had checked.   
‘Fucking life.’ he muttered to himself as he jiggled and shoved the key into the lock and with a few shoulder shoves he managed to force the damn door open.   
‘Jo, I’m back. Do we have any Kansas left?’ Mark called out from the door way. Nothing but silence answered him. Mark wrestled out of his jakcet, and yanked on the slim black tie that cut into his neck. He tossed both his jacket and case onto the ratty dark blue stuffed thing (that smelled rather odd if someone didn;t febreeze it at least twice a day) they called a couch.   
‘The Wiests want to have us over for dinner on Saturday, do you want to go?” Mark called out as he pried off his shoes, using his right to free his left foot, but having to succomb to bending down and use his hands to release his right foot. ‘Stupid damn left foot. Where the fuck did your coordination go.’ he thought as he stood back up.   
“And Harry says that Kelly wants to have a night with you at somepoint.” he hollered out while he meandered his way into the a room with poorly (fake) tiled floors that had been part of the building in the 80’s. Or at least that’s what he thought, there couldn’t be any other reason for someone using fake tile to tile a floor orange. The walls were blue, and the cabinets were fake wood. Mark thought the person who had designed it was not only colour blind, but also bind and deaf - because who ever had designed it obviously coudn’t see anything and couldn’t hear the cires and pleas of everyone else who had to see it and live with it. This horridly coloured room was considered the kitchen. Once in the room, Mark decided to give in to the laziness inside him and instead of kneeling at the fridge (which was so old it had some how managed to turn into a grey-ish, brown-ish colour) he decided to just sit instead and rummage around for the clear bottle of glory.   
“Babe, where’s the Kansas?” He questioned, “Wait. Fuck. What the fuck am I doing in the fridge?” he muttered to himself before scootching on his ass to the cabinet halfway on the other side of the kitchen. The kitchen was about the size of an Ikea dorm room. Tiny, or as the realestate lady had said ‘it’s just like kitchens in Paris! And it’s a cozy kitchen, perfect for cooking for two!’ Mark snorted at the memory, recalling that the lady looked exactly like that Umbridge bitch did from Harry Potter, except larger and preffered the colour green to pink. Mark had thought that she looked like a giant hairy toad and seriously doubted that she had ever left the country, let alone Paris. He pictured Hairy Toad Realestate Lady in Paris as he scootched to the liquor cabinet. He threw his head back, praactically cackaling with laughter. Grasping the edge of the gritty counter, Mark hauled himself up off the floor, and while still chuckling he pulled open the cabinet that held his prize. He pushed aside the darker bottles, moving Jack, Red Stag, Four Roses and some other bottles he didn’t recognise out of the way before finding the clear bottle he haad been searching for. Huffing out a breath of success, he pulled the glass, flasked shaped bottle out of the cabinet and grabed a tumbler off the shelf above the jungle of bottles. Gently putting each down on the grimy counter, he spun the cap off the whiskey bottle and poured a few fingers worth into the glass next to it.   
“This is the most sucesuful thing I’ve done all day.” He grumbled to himself as he twisted the lid back onto the bottle. He left it out, putting it next to the bananas that were still too green to be eaten. For a second he contemplated getting the rocks out of the freezer, thought better of it, and took a pull of his drink. He let the burn melt through his throat, seeping into his veins and slowly engulfing his insides with warmth.   
“ Fuck that’s good shit.” He murmered. “Hey babe, you want anything to drink?” He asked the apartment, “ Jo, you here babe?’ Mark asked to the quietness. He took swig, poured another finger of whiskey and wandered out of the kitchen. He went straight out of the kitchen, heading in the direction of the living room where he had left his jacket after tossing it on the back of the couch. Before actually making it to the living room, Mark realised that Jo wouldn’t be in there. He had been in there maybe five minutes ago - throwing his shit everywhere before retreating to the kitchen for his drink. Mentally slapping himself, he turned to his right, towards the one window (that never actually opened all the way because it was broken) the apartment had and in the general direction the bedroom. It was at this point that Mark had an overwhelming feeling of gratfulness to who ever decided to leave the floors as bare wood instead of covering them up with some sort of God-awful carpet that would have most likely made someone have a seizure. Mark continued on his way to the bedroom, he paused at the bathroom - listening to see if he could hear the water running, but there was nothing. He began again, shuffling his socked feet on the wood floors, and took a drink from his glass.   
Suddenly, Mark was hit hard with a relisation. It was quiet. There was no noise from anywhere, other than the neighbours next door, clanking their pots together and shouting things at each other in Russian. But his apartment was silent. He ignored the creeping feeling of panic that was begging to invade him.   
“Jojo, where are you babe?” Mark called out, expecting Jo to come out from somewhere. Expecting to see her poke her head out of the bedroom door with her dyed bright red hair bundled on top of her head and to give him a look that said ‘of course I’m here you jackass. I’ve been working.’ No one leaned out into the doorway, no one looked at Mark with an expression that said ‘of course I’m here you jackass. I’ve been working.’. Nothing happend. A feeling of panic clawed at his insides, growing with each step that he took that led him closer to the bedroom - the last place she could be. The last place she should be.   
‘I got home late, she must be asleep.’ he thought, though it did nothing to quell the panic that was shredding his organs and crawling up his throat. He came upon the bedroom door, a plain off white colour door, the same as the bathroom door, when the panic was at the gate of his mouth. He put his head on the door. ‘I’m being stupid. She’s asleep, it’s almost two.’ he thought, attempting to quell the monster of panic that was ripping him open and devouring what was left. Mark breathed in, slow, unsteady, and opened the door.   
“Jo?” he whispered into the dark. Silence answered. His hand shook slightly as he gripped his drink, “Johanna?” he pleaded with the dark. Cautiosly, he made his way to the bed that stood against the far wall, underneath a small window that let the faint moonlight seep into the room. Allowing just enough light to crawl in to be able to see where the bed and dresser were. Even in the moon light, Mark could see that the grey sheets were pulled taught across the queen sized bed. The pillows were standing as if they were in some Pottery Barn photo shoot, propped up against the wall, neatly ordered from smallest to largest. He could see that the bed was empty. For what seemed like an eterenity, Mark couldn’t breathe.  
He turned to the dresser, the stupid fucking thing that Jo had seen at a garage sale at some point and had made Mark move it. Time slowed as Mark moved to the dresser, he felt as if he was walking through peanut butter, unable to properly move but moving still. No matter how much he knew he didn’t want to.   
Mark stopped in front of the dresser.   
“Please Jo, please, be at Maggie’s.” He whispered to himself as he put his drink down on the top of the dresser, and squeezed his eyes closed. He covered his face with his hands, rubbing and smushing his features,forcing his mouth to be pulled into a thin line. He did this several times, before relenquishing his face back to the way it ususally was.  
“Come on Jo, don’t do this. Don’t do this. Please, for fucks sake Jo, please just don’t be gone.” His eyes still closed, he prayed to the room, and opened the top drawer. When the drawer felt like it was fully opened, Mark opened his eyes. The drawer was empty. “No, Jo, come on baby.” He opend the next drawer, empty. The next, the next the next, he opened every single drawer and each and every one that belonged to Johanna was empty. Mark ran to the closet in the front of the apartment. His sock clad feet slipping and sliding on the wood floors, causing him to crash into the kitchen counter and the wall hiding the bathroom. Slightly bruised, he made it to the colset. Flinging the door open, he found nothing but his own coat and boots. Johannas pale grey coat with all the buttons was gone along with her obnoxiously bright yellow rain boots. The hanger that had held up all of her bags and the one that had supported the rain jacket were both empty. The broken hanger that hadheld up her blizzarrd jacket was empty. The hooks that held up hats and scarves and gloves were only occupied by the things that Mark wore. Jos’ were gone. Mark ran to the bathroom, ramming into the side of the kitchen counter again, hitting it so hard that he bounced off it and fell over onto his ass. He scrambled back to his feet and sprinted to the bathroom. Adrenaline and panic coursed through him, warring with his other feelings and winning. He tore open the bathroom door, and frantically wrenched open the medicine cabinet, only to find his bottle of shaving cream and an empty package of contact solution. He pulled open all the drawers on the side of the sink, never had he prayed to find a bottle of nail polish, eyeliner, the stuff she put on her eye lashes, anything that said she was still there, still with him.   
“Jo ,Jo, Jo, no. Jo please, please baby. No, Jo. Please.” Mark murmered “Fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuck, no, Jo please no. No!” he yelled as he slamed the medicine cabinet shut. Falling back against the bathroom door, Mark slid down to the fake tiled floor, he brought his knees to his chest and leaned forward so that his elbows and forearms were sandwhiched between his thighs and chest. He covered his face with his hands,   
“Jo.” he whispered, this time, he didn’t expect a reply.


End file.
